I have two children, both of whom took care of
themselves, even when they got in trouble. Nothing major, though. They graduated
top of their high school, scholarships to great schools, received their B.A.s.
The daughter completed her M.A. secured good jobs, her own home and a future of
her making. The son will finish his M.A. this year, married a great woman, and
the two of them just had my first grandkid. Whether there are more doesn't
matter. One is great.
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| Before: son and his wife |
Although, it took him over 50 hrs. of labor to agree
to leave his mother's womb. Will that make him a "mama's boy?" I
don't know, nor do I care one way or the other. He will be shaped and nurtured
by his father and mother. That's sufficient.
50 hrs. of labor. From the ruido I've heard through three births, males should share that
experience.
A high school sex-ed where kids had to watch 50 hrs.
of labor might lead to a lot fewer unwanted births, bastards, as we call them. Whatever
the origin of that term, the intention was children with two adult parents
responsible for the rearing. A good thing.
Sex-ed classes of 50 hrs. of labor might prove positive
for some girls. Or not. But it might be more entertaining than the zero-effective
Just Say No, Not These Thighs.
"As
part of a stunt for their show, Storm and Zeno were hooked up to a machine with
electrodes stuck to their abdomens to simulate labor pains. And just like the real
thing, the cramping of the 'contractions' got stronger, longer and closer
together.
"The
average labor lasts 12 to 14 hours, but Storm and Zeno only lasted two
hours."
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| Nahua movement glyph to watch over him |
Historically, the Catholic Church is responsible for billions,
or more, children born out of wedlock, without the support of two loving
parents, born into relative poverty as their first obstacle in life. The Catholic
"sacredness" of life precludes contraception, like a woman's right to
abortion. So, in fact what's sacred is making babies, of whatever lineage. As
long as any church holds sway with Chicanos, Latinos and others, multitudes are
locked into cycles that include poverty, and not only financial poverty. Also,
a poverty of self-responsibility and parental modeling.
My new grandson is "luckier" than that. His
parents smarter, more responsible. As my daughter will be. And many other sons
and daughters. And even though there are too many of our species on this
planet, at least many grandkids will be born who learned from the errors of
their generations. So, change can come.
50 hrs. of labor. An abuelo during labor is as useful
as a diaper. There's nothing to be done, nor much of any way to contribute.
It's really up to the parents. Moral support--sure. Physically going to the car
for something--sure. Getting on the phone to deliver messages--maybe. Otherwise,
abuelos serve by only standing and waiting and assuming their presence is
somehow valuable to someone. It's in the job description, at least for that
day(s).
50 hrs. of labor. Sounds like damn good extra
rationale for considering adoptions.
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| azteca cradle illustration |
Adoptions, in many cases, of grandkids born out of
wedlock. Or orphans, many of whom are collateral products of American wars,
American drugs or American guns. Somewhere on the Internet there are statistics
of how many adoptable kids my country is responsible for this year or day. And
that's not including those within our borders.
Orphaned Palestinians. Orphaned Mexican, Salvadoran
and Guatemalan grandkids. How many there are, I don't know. I do know what my
country is financing in Israel and Gaza. I can hear it from the lips of Israeli soldiers who helped produce those orphans.
I don't feel it's a negative or sad thing to think of
such children during the 50 hrs. of labor while First Grandchild was searching for a way out. I'm privileged to be sitting in a new, modern hospital in a richer
country than most grandkids will open their eyes to. My grandkid will have more
such privileges, though he will not have it easy. But he'll learn. Things like,
#BlackNBrownNRedLivesMatter.
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| Imbedded raw turquoise ojo; half set, unstained walnut |
I'm making my interpretation of a neo-azteca cradle for whenever New
Grandkid comes over. Of salvaged or recycled walnut, cedar and ipe wood. No
nails, screw or metal, only glue, dowels and rope, tung oil stain. Because of the Catholic
Church-sanctioned destruction of native art, I know little of what cradles in
Tenochtítlan looked like, vaguely something like this drawing. I imagine the
rest.
I'm imbedding raw turquoise in the headboard
knot-hole, an ojo to watch over
Grandkid while I head to the frig to get him another Negra Modelo. Of course, to
cool him in summer, not to drink. Yet.
 |
| brecas on cedar siderails |
The side rails have brecas painted on them. The footboard he'll be able to see has an ollin-motion glyph, bracketed by a
lizard and monkey, symbolic animals to encourage his love of other creatures.
The cradle is a work of love--loving to work with wood and natural elements.
Grandkid and I don't know each other well enough to determine much more than
that, yet.
  |
| on ipe wood footboard |
Almost 50 hrs. after birth, Grandkid has no name.
Actually, his parents decided that even the sex would be unknown until birth. I
love that. So few precious things in life to savor that our technology attempts
to rob us of.
Turns out, my guess about the birthdate won the pool
that I'll have to share with … Cinco, as I have called him, given that he had
no name. Cinco, as in my guess that he'd be born a week late, on Cinco de Mayo.
[It was the Siete, instead.] Now I'll need to get a new cat or dog and name it
Cinco, to break my tendency to endow Grandkid with a numerical nickname.
50 hrs. of labor, but my grandson is not special. "Laborious,"
sure. Precious, certainly. Beautiful? Like art and literature, where beauty is
in the eye of the beholder or the reader or audience, in the case of
baby-beauty, it's in the eye of the relatives.
Humans must have at least two genetic propensities.
One for any baby, because it's defenseless and of our species. Another, for babies
related to us and bearing some resemblance to our clan or tribe. The second
feels like the more ingrained, to me. Moral dilemma: having to choose between
saving only one of two babies, you save the one with your color hair and eye
shape. Naturally.
Yesterday, I saw and held and talked and discussed
life with Grandkid for the first time. Skin like his parents. Hair like a
gorilla. Invisible eyebrows. Eyes, black as ebony, tinged like the deepest
waters off Cozumel. Beauty was not what I hoped for, which is why there's no
photo here of Grandkid. Only a video could capture what's important.
Instead, Grandkid quickly showed the same alertness my
kids were born with, not that I know whether his mother seemed that way at
birth. Focusing on things above him, intensely savoring something about them,
steadying his gaze, finding his bearings. Maybe wishing Strange Abuelo with
flashing camera would go the fk away. Smiling a couple of times. Like he understood
his new position of dominance.
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| After: she could probably do another 50 |
50 hrs. of labor. That I can't describe as regrettable,
given the results. Mother forgive me, but it was natural, that's all.
I'm thinking: one can adopt kids, so why not grandkids?
Forget how "beautiful" they might look. Better they have the capacity
to understand this world that I oftentimes don't. That they reverse our
direction heading toward global-warmed extinction. That they're lucky enough to
find parents like these ready to catch them. And maybe an abuelo nearby,
willing to stand-in. And cuddle him before nestling him like some hummingbird
egg, into a neo-azteca cradle. Whenever it's completed.
Es todo,
RudyG, hoy, just another abuelo
